Invisible
by Shira Lansys
Summary: I watch you, always. I don't have to wonder if you ever see me, though, because I know you never do. Onesided TeddyLorcan. Please R&R! Oneshot.


**This was written for the genre competition, in which the genre was "A Slice of Life". Whoever invented that genre needs to be shot. I can only hope I've done it right; I'm not certain that I have. **

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* * *

I see you, as you lounge against the cold castle wall. You don't see me – you never do. Instead your eyes continue to scan the crowd as you look for whoever you're waiting for. All I know is that the person isn't me, is never me.

My feet carry me right past you, like they do every week. It's a good thing they have a mind of their own, else I might just stop there and watch you. And then you'd notice, and that would be awkward.

Lysander pulls at my elbow impatiently. "Come on, Lor," he nags. "You're so slow. You're always so slow."

I speed up, for him, because he can't know why I dawdle on the fifth floor corridor on Fridays. He can't know it's because I see you.

* * *

I can't stop staring at you in Potions, to the point where I make my sleeping drought explode because I'm paying more attention to the parting of your hair than I am to colour of the liquid in my cauldron. You look at me – the whole class looks at me, because I've showered them in an orange sludge, but only for a second. It doesn't mean anything to you, I know, but it means the world to me.

Lysander and I get the full blast, as we are closest to the potions. I don't feel dizzy at all, but Lysander nearly collapses so I have to take him to the Hospital Wing. As soon as we're out of the classroom he begins to walk normally again, and I realise he was faking.

"Don't look so disapproving," he tells me when I glare at him. "It's an excellent excuse to skive off." I can't go back now, anyway – it would look too suspicious, so I follow him back up to our dorms.

"What was distracting you, anyway?" he asks as we walk. "You've been acting like a real airhead recently." He gives me a playful shove which almost sends me careening into a wall.

I brush myself off. "You know me," I say. "I'm just inattentive."

"Only sometimes," he says. His eyes narrow, and I'm scared what words might follow that. My brother is not considerably perceptive, but it would be just my luck for him to have finally noticed the last thing on this earth that I want him to notice.

I avoid his gaze, inwardly begging him not to finish his statement with "You're only inattentive when you're around Teddy Lupin."

He doesn't.

Instead he says, "Well, you should probably pay more attention in Potions at least. No wonder you're failing."

I almost breathe out a sigh of relief when we reach the common room. Lysander flops onto a chair and I climb the stairs to the dorm where I throw myself on the bed. It's last period anyway – in about ten minutes, the school day will be over. I reassure myself with the fact that I'm not missing much.

Well, I'm not missing much classwork, anyway. I'm certainly missing out on seeing you. On watching you from the other side of the classroom. Ten minutes may not seem a lot, but gazing dreamily at you is all I have.

Especially as it seems I may have to stop the daydreaming, if Lysander is starting to notice. Because if I know anything, it is that he _cannot _know about my ridiculous crush on you. He won't understand. He _can't _understand. He's my brother and we love each other, but he's Lysander – loud, confident, and completely heterosexual. He'll never get why I sit quietly in a corner, daydreaming about you and never doing anything about it.

So I must remain silent.

* * *

I still watch you every Potions lesson, although it's harder when I'm trying to get my concoctions to not explode. I manage to make one out of four to an acceptable standard, but I pay the price in not having as much time to look your way.

On Thursday, during lunch, you take a seat opposite Lysander, and I almost choke on my soup. It's not _that_ rare for you to talk to him, of course; you and he are on friendly terms. But you say hello to me as well, this time. I can't remember the last time you've spoken to me. I'm not certain that you've _ever _spoken to me.

I almost manage to return you're greeting normally – almost. Lysander looks at me strangely, and I'm certain that my face is the colour of a tomato. So much for not raising his suspicions.

You don't stay long; you're a very fast eater. I already knew that. But you talk to Lysander the whole time, and at one point I attempt to work up the courage to say something. I don't, of course, and by the time you leave the only thing I've said to you is a strangled 'hello', but there's a small smile on my face all the same.

* * *

The next day is Friday, and I see you like I usually do. You're scanning the crowds, and I wonder for the millionth time who exactly it is you're looking for.

As I get closer to you, something happens that has never happened before. Your eyes meet mine, and they hold my gaze. Your mouth goes funny around the corners and I realise you're smiling. I try to smile back, although I'm not sure it works.

And then the crowd has swept me past you and the moment is gone.

But the memory never will be.

_I see you._


End file.
